


Jack Speaks Ancient, and Daniel Speaks Jack

by Princess of Geeks (Princess)



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Episode Related, First Time, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-12
Updated: 2010-09-12
Packaged: 2017-10-12 00:02:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/118605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Princess/pseuds/Princess%20of%20Geeks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Episode tag for "The Fifth Race," which does mean adultery. Note: Sha're is not minimized or marginalized in this fic, though it is Jack/Daniel.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Jack Speaks Ancient, and Daniel Speaks Jack

  
By the end of the day in which Jack came back through the wormhole from the Ida galaxy, the general was ninety percent reassured that he really was, finally, all right again. The determining factor was not Jack's repeated assertions, nor his report about the Asgard with their healing ET hands, but Dr. Fraiser's PET scan. It showed Jack's brain function was apparently back to normal ("That's just what I've been telling you, sir," Jack expostulated, and Daniel, hovering in the infirmary when Janet called up the new film on her monitor to explain what she'd seen, couldn't hide his smile).

When Jack was cleared, Daniel, on whom the fact of his own exhaustion was just beginning to dawn, offered to see the colonel home and keep an eye on him over the weekend, Hammond agreed.

As the two of them left the mountain, Daniel found it quite hilarious that he was riding passively in the passenger seat of Jack's truck while Jack drove, considering the state Jack had recently been in, but Jack had insisted he wanted to drive and Daniel hadn't had the energy to argue. He realized he was maybe a little punchy. He watched Jack carelessly, expertly steer the big truck around the switchbacks that led down from the SGC entrance, thinking about how Jack had found his tortuous way, at speeds beyond light, to another galaxy and back, and, scant hours later, was driving his same familiar two-year-old American truck at highway speed down their familiar Colorado hillside. Normal had apparently resumed, and Daniel hadn't quite caught up to it yet. He kept expecting Jack to say something in Ancient, or to stare at him, silently yearning, as he'd been doing for the last handful of days.

Despite the lingering dark circles, and the slightly madcap enthusiasm he was displaying, so unlike his normal laid-back, slightly sarcastic humor, Jack did really seem to be pretty much back to his old self. And that was proving difficult for Daniel to believe.

Though SG-1 had all been released to down time, Sam had stayed with Lt. Simmons to run yet another diagnostic on the mainframe and to further analyze the DHD plans Jack had drawn. She'd also wanted to match notes with Sgt. Siler on the impact of Jack's boosting of the power to the gate. Daniel had left the three of them bent over Jack's now-silent and inert device, muttering about reverse engineering this and superconducting alloys that. Daniel wondered if Teal'c had heard yet that Jack had permanently depleted the power supply of his favorite staff weapon. Daniel, for his part, was noting just how depleted his own mental energy was, resulting in thoughts that were rambling even more than usual.

As Jack drove down the hill, Daniel realized belatedly, he had been complaining about sports -- something about the Denver MLB team. But, perhaps because of a lack of feedback from Daniel, Jack had fallen silent. Now he was fiddling with the radio controls, his eyes never leaving the road. After a minute or two he sighed and snapped the dial to "off." He replaced his right hand on the wheel, wiggling a little in his seat.

Daniel groped for an appropriate banal comment, but came up with nothing. He watched Jack's profile. Jack glanced over, as if feeling him staring, and Daniel was helpless to look away. They were at the bottom of the swooping NORAD road now, and as Jack waited for the light to change, he tapped nervous fingers on the wheel.

"Thanks," he said.

"For what?" Daniel replied. Jack's eyes were so dark. He looked serious now, all his normal banter gone.

Jack returned his attention to the road, and they pulled away from the now-green light. "For listening. For translating. For believing I wasn't crazy. I mean, I was crazy, actually. But. You know."

"I know," Daniel said, and folded his arms. His worry, held at arm's length for a week by sheer determination, and obscured by the electric thrill of discovering a new language, an honest to God, never before seen on Earth _new language,_ was flooding his gut. Delayed reaction. It made him shaky as it clashed with the enormous relief for Jack that was his dominant emotion. If he'd been standing up, he would have been fumbling for a chair.

Jack was all right. His mind, that supple, sarcastic, quicksilver mind, had not been overwritten. He was not catatonic, not in a coma. Not dead. He was all right. Daniel closed his eyes. His eyelids were quivering, and so were his hands, which he'd somehow stuffed in his armpits. He tried to remember the last square meal he'd eaten. He'd been living on coffee and Teal'c's stash of power bars and instant oatmeal, he concluded, and that wasn't going to sustain him much longer.

Daniel said, "You still have a habit of keeping a frozen lasagna for emergencies?"

"Yeah; why? Does this count as one?"

"Maybe." Daniel forced in a breath and met Jack's eyes.

Jack looked worried. "Really; I feel great. The nice little grey men sucked the headsucker stuff out of me and I'm back to normal. Nothing to worry about."

"I know."

"How about you -- you okay? You look ... tense. Just a little."

Daniel uncrossed his arms with an effort and flattened his hands on his thighs. His palms were damp and thus his jeans were soon damp, too. He made himself answer calmly. "Yeah. I'm okay. I was just... I was just really scared for you," he finished in a rush. It always worried him a little, embarrassed him, struck him as inappropriate, how much he was concerned about Jack. And how bizarre it was to be worried about Jack in the first place -- what made his react that way? Jack was the leader, the protector, the fearless "I can take care of myself" kind of tough guy. Daniel, The Geek, worrying about Jack, The Badass. That was rich.

Jack studied him, intermittent glances stolen from watching the traffic. "You're crashing," Jack concluded, with a note of satisfaction, a strange smugness, perhaps at his ability to still read Daniel correctly despite the weird week they'd had. He drove on toward home, a faint smile playing on his lips.

There was lasagna, which they heated. There was no coffee. Daniel declined a beer and made tea while Jack wrestled the lasagna into the microwave.

Doing the domestic kitchen dance with Jack was so familiar and so easy. Daniel felt his own punchy mood soothed as he snacked on a fresh can of mixed nuts he found in the back of the pantry, and drank plain water while he waited for the kettle. Jack rummaged in the sparsely populated cupboards and freezer. Daniel was able to study his friend, to soak in the fact of his return, with no fear that he'd be called on his inappropriate focus.

His relief was bolstered, moment upon moment, by the mundanity of it all. It was so good to watch Jack in his own home, pulling together a simple meal like they'd done, the two of them, dozens of times, and dozens of times more with the whole team, right here. In this kitchen. So good. So comfortable. Also, the restocking of his blood sugar didn't hurt his mood, either.

Daniel realized he was watching Jack with a intensity that was almost obsessive, and though the circumstances of this particular post-mission downtime made it very understandable, he was struck once again by Jack's preeminent place in his life since his departure from Abydos.

It was exactly as he had told General Hammond earlier in the week -- Jack needed him. He wouldn't, couldn't leave Jack, not when Jack was speaking only Ancient, certainly, and perhaps... ever? Any time?

His feelings of concern for Jack were heightened, certainly, because of what Jack had suffered because of this mission, but if Daniel were honest? He would admit that he thought about Jack a lot. Lived in his shadow, in his beneficent shade, most of the time.

Most of the time? Really honestly? All the time. These last few days, he had had a good reason to state the fact of his felt connection out loud, to Sam, Teal'c, to the general, to everyone. But it was always there. Sometimes he was afraid his connection to Jack actually competed with the driving urgency that was his motivation in life: His worry and concern for Sha're, and his bone-deep determination to find her.

But that made no sense. Competition? The two feelings -- emotions? bonds? -- had nothing to do with each other. He cared for his team, especially Jack -- cared for them and even loved them. Well. He wasn't sure he loved Teal'c, even yet. He wasn't sure he could. Respect? Yes. Grudging admiration? Perhaps. But he could say without hesitation that he'd come to love Sam Carter. And Jack. Jack he definitely loved.

Daniel let himself look, again -- let himself study the chiseled profile, now bent over the stovetop as Jack carefully peeled the plastic cover from their unfrozen dinner, and, on a released breath, Daniel let himself feel.

Yeah, he loved Jack. He'd loved Jack for almost precisely the same amount of time he'd loved Sha're, and he'd told himself, for months, that the difference between those loves was not in degree but in kind. But since the aftermath of his adventure in the sarcophagus with Princess Shyla, he hadn't been all that sure of the difference.

Like the boundary between his worry and his relief, the boundaries that helped him understand why he was fighting, to whom he was committed, seemed to be blurring these days.

Which was bad.

He looked down, realized his glasses were smudged, and pulled them off to clean them on his shirt tail. He shouldn't think about it, shouldn't think about things that were blurry.

Jack was safe; returned to them restored, his mind scrubbed clear of the Ancient data.

That was what was important here. He sighed and picked up his teacup.

Jack looked up. "I think it's done," he said. "You want to grab the silverware? We'll eat in the dining room."

^^^^

An embarrassing amount of frozen lasagna and frozen stir-fry vegetable mix later, Daniel was lying on the sofa in Jack's living room, his forearm across his eyes, drifting pleasantly and quickly toward sleep.

He registered that water was running in the kitchen, registered that it shut off, and then he heard Jack open the fridge, say, "Naw," to himself under his breath, shut it again, and thump down the stairs into the living room. Then Jack, huffing his relief loudly and repeatedly, lowered himself to the floor. Daniel, feeling vaguely guilty over taking the couch, fumbled beside his hip and tossed Jack a pillow. Jack grunted something that meant 'thank you.'

"I should give you the sofa," Daniel said, "but I probably can't move."

"Floor's fine," Jack said. "I should go to bed in a minute anyway. Ahh. The very idea is relaxing all by itself. Bed. My own bed. Yes."

Eyes closed, Daniel grinned. He'd known only a few people who seemed to enjoy the simple creature comforts as much as Jack did. He was sure it was a function of having had to live without them in various obscure postings, down the years. He had observed something similar in himself, first on archaeological digs Earthside and then on Abydos. He never felt the rough conditions as a deprivation or as a pretext for complaint. Like Jack, he rather saw the return from such places to what was commonly known as civilized comfort as an occasion of gratitude.

He realized, without looking, that Jack had in fact not dozed off, but was lying there thinking hard. Daniel opened his eyes and moved his arm a bit. He could see the blurry ceiling, with its overlay of elongated, soft shadows from the tall windows. He didn't look to the side, but he swore he could hear wheels turning in Jack's head.

Daniel waited, counting his breaths.

"Why did you stay?" Jack said.

"When?" Daniel replied. Although he knew perfectly well what Jack was asking. After the week he'd just been through, it was another species of luxury, just as gratefully experienced as the hot food and the sofa, to hear Jack speak English, to draw out their normal semi-telepathic exchanges in order to relish every step, every line in this proof that they were indeed communicating, still perfectly in sync, despite Jack's jaunt among the Asgard.

He felt Jack's smile, and knew that Jack knew exactly what Daniel was doing by asking, by making Jack confirm what Daniel already knew.  
Jack patiently explained: "When Teal'c and Carter went to check out that planet with the two suns. When I was going all Ancient and I couldn't talk."

"You actually could still understand us then, couldn't you."

"Yup."

"I was wrong about that, then," Daniel said.

Jack didn't speak, and Daniel turned his head to look at him. He was looking at Daniel. Waiting for him to answer.

Daniel drew breath and got an elbow under his side. Jack was flat on his back, the pillow Daniel had given him stuffed under his head, arms asprawl. Daniel said, "I told the general that translating the language you were speaking was the most important job I could do, and that since no one could communicate with you but me, I wouldn't leave you in order to go to the planet they found."

Jack nodded, holding his gaze, and Daniel felt it again -- the crazy, illicit zing that had burned between them when Jack had insisted, in Daniel's lab, speaking Ancient, that he needed a new location, that he needed to go. And Daniel had understood him.

What meaning was he missing now? Daniel thought. What was there to understand here, conveyed through Jack's question? Hiding behind Jack's steady gaze? What was there to understand in Daniel's answer?

"So. Thanks," Jack said. And he turned his head away, so that he was facing the ceiling again, and closed his eyes.

^^^^

Sometime in the night, Daniel was awakened by Jack's snoring. He found himself on his side, trying to curl forward into the back of the sofa, his glasses askew, his hair in his mouth, and he heaved himself up. Stopping by the main bathroom to piss, he made it down the hall and managed to remove his shoes before he flopped onto the bed in the guest room, and fell asleep again like falling down a well.

When he woke again it seemed he'd only been dreaming for half a moment, but his neck was stiff from lying on his stomach with his head turned to the side, and he wondered what had disturbed him. Judging by the light, it wasn't anywhere near morning. Then he heard it, and realized he was actually hearing it for the second time -- a sound from the living room. A sound his sleeping brain had logged as important. Jack was moaning. Loudly. Not as if in pain, but with a frantic note.

Daniel got up and went to him. Jack was still on the living room floor, but he was lying on his side, eyes tightly shut, one arm extended, grabbing at nothing.

 _"Asodo!"_ Jack pleaded, and the fear in his voice made Daniel frown, made as shiver run up his spine. Daniel crouched on the carpet. Jack said, _"Comdo asodo!"_

Daniel winced and reached to grip Jack's shoulder. "Jack. Jack, it's me. Wake up." He considered saying _"Vegere",_ but discarded the term. Better to stick with English? To keep Jack here-and-now?

Jack, eyes still closed, bent his elbow to grab Daniel's hand. Then his eyes flew open, but they had the far-away deadness of the sleepwalker. _"Asodo,"_ he begged again, and grabbed Daniel's other arm with his free hand.

"Come on, Jack. Come to bed," Daniel said, and Jack, muttering garbled snatches of Ancient, allowed himself to be pulled to his feet and steered down the hall. In his room, he stood by the bed, staring at it vacantly, and Daniel wondered if he were really sleepwalking. Maybe if he could just get Jack to lie down in a familiar, safe place -- his bed, where he usually slept, and not the floor -- the grip of the dream would loosen.

"Lie down, Jack. Come on," Daniel urged gently, pushing him. Jack did as he was told, but he still wouldn't let go of Daniel's arms. He put a knee on the bed, then collapsed slowly to his side, pulling Daniel down with him.

 _"Domi,"_ he muttered. "Daniel."

Ah -- that was the word, then. A different root. "Yes, it's me. And yes: You're home, Jack. You're home."

Jack sighed, long and easy, and his eyes closed again, but his grip on Daniel's arm remained. Daniel shook his head ruefully, and decided he was apparently settled for the night as well. He realized he'd left his glasses somewhere, either by the guest bed or back at the sofa. Probably better not to disturb Jack by forcing him to let go.

 _"Amacus,"_ Jack muttered, and something else Daniel couldn't catch, and then his face relaxed into peace.

Daniel fell asleep like that, eventually -- facing Jack, in Jack's bed, Jack holding tight. And woke, to the silvery light of early morning, which filtered through the blinds into the dark, warm room. To find Jack still holding on. But now they were spooned together like old lovers -- Jack behind him, his arms around Daniel's waist, Daniel's arms around his arms.

Stabbed by a hopeless pang of yearning, Daniel shut his eyes tightly. He should get up; it would upset Jack to find the two of them like this He probably wouldn't remember his nightmare at all, and he would wonder what the hell Daniel was doing, crawling into bed with him like this.

Daniel knew he ought to move, but he couldn't. He was stunned to discover how good this felt. How natural, how easy. How impossibly familiar. He sighed and was about to make himself gently unwrap Jack's arms from his middle and then do his best to sneak away, when Jack said, carefully, at normal volume, "Daniel?"

Daniel started. He had thought Jack was asleep. "I can explain," he said, gripping Jack's wrists, but once again Jack wouldn't let go of him. He gave Daniel a quick squeeze with his arms, and then opened one hand and patted Daniel's chest.

"Kinda comfy, aren't we," he said, and he sounded more amused than anything else.

"Um," Daniel said, and he tried to ease his body away a little, still embarrassed and feeling somehow like he'd been caught out. "Do you remember that you woke up in the night?"

"No. But apparently I got to bed somehow."

"I had gone on to the guest room, but you woke me up because you were out in the living room, calling for help. Speaking in Ancient." God, Jack's warmth felt so good against his back. Too good. He really should move; should at least roll away so he could face Jack while he explained.

"No I wasn't."

"Were so."

"Were not."

Daniel bit back a 'Were so' and said instead: "Jack. You say the Asgard wiped the, the database from your mind, but I'm not making this up. Last night you spoke to me in Ancient."

Jack's arms tightened around Daniel's middle. "I had ... a nightmare?"

"Yes. I think so. Lying on the living room floor, where you fell asleep. And when I came to check on you, you were still speaking Ancient. Calling for help. And then I convinced you to come in to bed, here. You were upset. You didn't want to let go of me."

Jack patted Daniel's chest again, but now he was easing away as he spoke, easing back. His voice acquired a specific, carefully calm quality that Daniel had learned to mistrust, because it always, in Jack, masked some other emotion. "So, I was hanging on to you. In bed here."

"Yes," Daniel acknowledged, his mind running along several tracks at once, trying to parse what was happening.

He found that his body wanted earnestly to cling to the beautiful surreal comfort of lying curled up in Jack's bed, cradled against Jack's body, surrounded by his comforting warmth and scent. His body wanted to keep what it had found, right here, in the bed where Jack lay every night. His body was very aware of Jack subtly starting to pull away, and most emphatically did not want that. Daniel noticed that he also urgently did want, despite an accompanying stain of guilt, to trace the thread of arousal twining through his torso, and that he also desired to fully grasp his dawning awareness that one of the reasons Jack was pulling away was so that Daniel might not feel that Jack himself was hardening, pressed as he was against Daniel's back.

Daniel also wanted, even needed, to plumb the strange depths of that last sentence Jack had spoken -- its message lying not in its words but in its cadence, its hidden emotions, its note of regret. What did Jack mean? Had Jack, given the circumstances of their awakening, been hoping it was Daniel who had been the one to hang on in the night? That it was Daniel who had voluntarily come to bed with Jack? Taken the first step to this physical closeness? Had it embarrassed Jack to learn that it was he who had pulled Daniel into bed? Did Jack imagine Daniel was embarrassed now, or, God forbid, reluctant?

All these conflicting trains of thought and tendrils of sensation were overwhelming.

"Sorry," Jack was offering, and he was still patting, still easing back. Easing away.

Daniel, under intense emotional pressure, performed a nearly instantaneous integration that would have made Sam Carter proud had it been a feat of mathematics. He threw away caution, abandoned in one stroke every one of his half-examined assumptions about Jack (straight, married to the Only One, hardass, career military to his core), and fully and immediately embraced the inchoate feeling of intense happiness that had welled up inside him when he'd realized where he'd awakened, and how, and with whom. And he recklessly reached for the promise he'd felt in Jack's body.

Daniel said, softly, encouragingly: "I didn't mind, actually."

He put his hands on Jack's wrists again, and sagged back, as if the skin of his back and thighs could act as a magnet to draw Jack toward him again. He held his breath.

Jack had gotten hard, lying there with him. Jack had assumed Daniel was reluctant. But until that mistaken idea took shape? Jack had wanted him. Wanted this closeness. Wanted Daniel, sexually. Physically. Jack wanted this too.

"You didn't mind," Jack confirmed.

Daniel's breathing resumed, and began to speed up. "No. I didn't mind. I don't mind."

"You want to do ... something. Now that we're here," Jack cautiously said, and -- God -- he was easing in again, allowing his body to relax into that curve against Daniel's again. Daniel closed his eyes. Boundaries, boundaries. There were boundaries here. Weren't there? Jack felt so, so good.

"You want my honest answer?" Daniel said, knowing he was suddenly playing for time, and that meant playing with fire. But spearing through his happiness, through this latest awareness that he and Jack were sharing, was the inescapable fact that regardless of how sublimely arousing and comforting this felt, how right, how clearly and neatly and beautifully he fit with Jack, it wasn't simple. It was complicated. Perhaps complicated to the point of impossibility.

But one toyed with Jack, fenced with him, at one's peril.

"No, Daniel. That's why I asked." Sarcasm, the words so simple, but the tone bitter. Daniel knew this change-up. Jack could say anything now. He was capable of demanding that Daniel leave, even of offering to throw him out. Or he could finish withdrawing -- say nothing at all and let his actions speak. Actions of shoving, of leaping up, actions that would amount to rejection, of assumptions about Daniel's motives, Daniel's inner conflicts. Daniel opened his eyes. The sunlight through the blinds striped the paneling, touched tiny points of brilliance among the velvet and ribbon of framed medals. Sadness was there, suddenly, inside him. Sadness and regret and guilt, and yet, also gratitude, at having felt that fleeting comfort. That evanescent peace.

"Yes. I want to. You can feel that, I'm sure." Daniel took a deep breath. He was only saying this out loud to Jack, to himself, because it was the stark truth: "But I shouldn't. You shouldn't."

Jack was still behind him, not moving away now, and yet not pulling closer. Still touching. Bodies still in contact. "Because you're married," Jack said, brutally direct and to the point, as always, "and because I'm married to the Air Force."

Daniel chuckled in spite of himself. His body was yearning instinctively, like an animal would, to press back, to find the fit for Jack's almost-felt erection against Daniel's backside. Daniel's body was yearning to feel his warmth, his strength, to wrap him close. Further, Daniel's traitorous body wanted so much more -- desired to roll against Jack, to put them face to face, and kiss him, touch him, crawl inside him. But Daniel focused tightly on the bitter tingle of ironic humor that was making his chest contract. "Elegantly put," he said.

"So," Jack said, and -- miracle -- he still wasn't moving.

"So," Daniel said, a finality, and his voice had picked up that inner, inescapable sadness he was feeling.

And he had to bow to reality, to all of it, past and present. He knew that the right thing to do, the honorable thing to do, was to make it his turn to try to end this. To move, to roll away, while thinking vaguely of coffee and toast and the bitter ashes of regret and missed opportunities and duty, of vows and promises and love that couldn't be predicted or controlled. But Jack's arms were still gentle and firm around his middle. Still there. Not letting Daniel go.

Daniel was caught, poised as on a knife edge. And so he let himself wait. He watched the sunbeams and wondered what in the world Jack would say. Could say, now.

Definitely, Jack was hard against the curve of Daniel's ass. Hard, and... getting harder. And his arms were... pulling closer. Molding his body to Daniel's. Impossible. True. Daniel closed his eyes again. He felt Jack's breath on his nape. Daniel wanted this, needed it. And yet he should not, could not want. This couldn't happen. His hands tightened of their own accord on Jack's muscled forearms.

Jack said, hesitantly but clearly, "If it were just us, here. Like a dream. A fantasy. Would you want to."

Images swept across Daniel's inner eye -- twining beautiful unbearable images of skin and heat and ecstasy. They surprised him and called to him. He jerked in Jack's arms and made a final serious effort to pull away.

Jack held on.

Daniel burst out, "God, is there a point to this? You just said we can't."

"That's not exactly what I said," Jack returned, and his voice had dropped several notes and acquired a velvety, seductive rumble that Daniel had never heard before.

Daniel sucked in a disbelieving breath, and then he gave in to impulse and rolled, inside the circle of Jack's arms. He had to. He had to see Jack's face. This was too important to trust to their telepathy. He dug an elbow into the mattress and rolled without moving away, to see this unbelievable unthinkable thing.

Jack's eyes were fully awake and aware, and he was totally himself, not sleepwalking, not brain-dumped. Chocolate-brown eyes were deep and open and well-rested and yet somehow full of that same kind of yearning Daniel had seen at the SGC, when Jack had needed his help, needed him to provide the only understanding Jack would get this side of Orilla.

Daniel, inwardly, gasped. He wasn't sure what his face expressed. He felt -- slack. Lightning-struck. Stunned.

Jack, with that wide-open expression, put his hand to Daniel's cheek and said, "I thought for sure you understood by now: Leaving you behind on Abydos was a bitch for me. It was goddamn hard. Why else do you think I moved down here? Built the house here?"

Daniel couldn't believe what he was hearing. Late, so late, to catch up to reality. "Jack," he forced out. "My God..."

Jack's thumb was stroking gently along his jaw, almost touching his bottom lip, and Jack was looking at his mouth. His voice was low and soft and urgent. "After I went back home, after Sara had left the house -- I couldn't get you off my mind. The whole time you were gone. I know you found a new home there, on Abydos. And I know you found-- Maybe I'm just being opportunistic here, being a heel, but Daniel... If we do this, believe me: I'll never forget who has the prior claim on you."

Daniel tried to arrange his features into something other than open mouthed surprise. Jack kept stroking his cheek, searching his eyes, watching his mouth. This felt like absolution, permission, and betrayal, all at once. Where the hell had this intense desire come from? When had he begun to love Jack like this, to need him? What he felt was so coherent and so strong, it had to be of long standing. How in the hell had he missed all this, in himself and in this amazing man? He knew the answer: Because he'd had to. He'd made himself miss it. He'd ignored it, denial being, as they said, the soul's shock absorber.

But not any more.

"God, Jack...." He should be able to string together a sentence! Shit! But Daniel found that all he could do was lean in even farther, hold on even tighter, and put his face in Jack's shoulder And then Jack gathered him in with both arms, and held him tight.

They were both hard now, Daniel distantly realized, as they pressed full length, body to body. It was real, all right. Jack cared just as much as Daniel did, and in the same way. Jack had been holding back. All this time.

Jesus.

Jack was stroking a hand along his spine, breathing long and slow, maybe trying to absorb the impossible moment, just as Daniel was.

Jack said, "Uh, so.... it seems like something we shouldn't let go to waste, here, a morning like this. But. Maybe I'm getting it all wrong. Maybe you're not--"

 _"Oh, Sha're,"_ Daniel thought, fleetingly, guiltily, despairingly, and then Daniel put his two hands against Jack's face, and pulled him in and kissed him.

Jack made a confused, surprised sound, but he caught up extremely quickly. His hands covered Daniel's, and he kissed Daniel back. His tongue was hot and eager at first, but Daniel felt his breathing slow, felt him, perhaps consciously, slow it all down, make a decision not to rush what they were doing.

His kiss turned thoughtful, languid, exploratory.

 _Why do people think kissing is a prelude to sex?_ Daniel thought vaguely, his mouth full, his spine melting. This was just like sex -- penetrating and being penetrated, taking turns. Hot and wet and deep; soft, then strong.

Jack's kisses, Jack's mouth, made him dizzy. Made him so hard he was leaking.

He realized one of Jack's arms had moved to wrap his waist, and Jack's other hand was in his hair. He continued to cup Jack's jaw, continued to kiss him, to dive into his mouth.

The kissing was eventually interrupted by ... Jack laughing.

"God, Danny," Jack said, and Daniel opened his eyes to take this in, Jack with eyes closed, gleeful, murmuring to him, telling him crazy impossible things between short sweet kisses.

"Oh, shit -- so -- does rescue from certain death by brain blooey -- mean I can really get all demanding -- and get you to do the things I want you to do, to me?"

"Jack," Daniel began, feeling he was blurting, feeling nothing he would say would make any sense. Incredible: Jack's hard lean body, pressed full length against his. Jack, finding their way through embarrassment, through a thicket of words, to... this.

"Jack," Daniel said again, feeling there was more to say, yet having no words. Jack had both hands in his hair now, tugging, then digging in with his fingertips, cradling Daniel's skull. Still kissing. Daniel's incoherent tone somehow must have conveyed agreement, because Jack kept going. Daniel's body must have conveyed it too.

Jack went on, " 'Cause, I mean, we might just be doing this the one time, you know? I get that."

"Oh my god," Daniel managed. Jack's kisses reformed, turning long and urgent and demanding again. And his voice became strained. Rough.

"Do you top, Daniel? Have you ever? Because I want it all today. I want us to do everything and I want something I can remember forever. If this is it, you understand. Just because we ended up in bed together. Just this once."

Daniel gathered his wits and managed to say, still kissing: "I can't... I can't believe you. I had no idea you wanted... I never--"

Daniel broke off, distracted by sensation. He realized he was pushing steadily against Jack's lower body, the warmth and friction and pressure of their erections an overwhelming counterpoint to the kissing and the impossible invitation.

"Look. I'll start," Jack was saying, and before Daniel could answer, Jack was pushing himself down, finding the zipper of Daniel's jeans, finding his erection, and God, that was Jack's mouth, that same mouth that had kissed his so intently, said those impossible glorious things -- this was Jack. Sucking him. Licking him.

Sheer wonder made Daniel's eyes fly open. Lost in pleasure and amazement, he caressed Jack's hair. And looked down and watched. Watched his team leader, his Air Force colonel, his badass, hardass of a Special Ops assassin.... suck his dick. Enthusiastically. Skillfully. Like he knew and loved what he was doing. Like he'd done this before.

Just when Daniel felt he couldn't take any more without coming, with a vague understanding that Jack had asked for something specific, and if Daniel climaxed now, it would be too soon, too soon -- just when these vague thoughts fought their way through the intense sensations, Jack slowly, lingering as if reluctant, pulled away.

He looked up at Daniel, his mouth red and stung and wet, his short hair disheveled, his eyes wild. "Will you," he whispered. "Will you fuck me. Is that okay."

"Yes. Yes," Daniel gasped. He was supposed to have words; he was supposed to be the articulate one.

Jack pushed away and got up and opened his nightstand drawer one- handed, and fumbled with his clothes with the other. Daniel couldn't take his eyes off him. Still lying there half stunned, he hastily pushed his jeans the rest of the way off, and yanked his shirt over his head. Jack tossed the tube he found on the pillow and stood at the side of the bed to strip.

Then Jack pushed the covers away and crawled to Daniel to kneel over him, the tube in one hand. But then he dropped it to run careful admiring hands up Daniel's stomach and over his chest, down his arms, and then, gently, as if he knew how close to the edge he'd already pushed him, he put both hands on Daniel's cock.

For his part, Daniel, his breath catching in his throat, watched Jack balance over him, felt the gentle scratch of his hair, and he set his palms on the corded muscle of Jack's thighs, slid his hands up to grip the narrow hips, to touch and caress as far and as much as he could. It was like their hands couldn't touch enough, couldn't get enough skin.

He soon moved to caressing Jack's erection, first with one hand, then the other, learning its shape, its heft, the way Jack's balls settled in his cupped palm.

Jack murmured at him, and met his eyes, and he was smiling. Daniel was lost in wonder. This was really happening. They kept touching each other, touching where they'd only looked, before.

Finally Jack found the tube again, and, still with that small, intimate smile, seeming to relish each step, he squeezed the gel into his hand, meeting Daniel's eyes as he reached for him. Daniel clutched Jack's thighs reflexively as the cool thick stuff smoothed over his hot skin in a cascade of delicate pleasure.

As Daniel tried to form words that would ask about condoms, convey a query that would span Janet's blood tests and his own sense of loyalty to Sha're, Jack met his eyes again. As he applied the lube, slowly, making it so much more than a necessary task, he looked at Daniel's erection with an open lust that Daniel found extremely flattering and extremely arousing.

Jack said softly, "I think we're good, unless you know something Doc Fraiser doesn't."

Jack would be the one at risk here, and Daniel's attempt to form those questions vanished like morning mist. He nodded.

Jack used the remaining lube on himself, as Daniel tightened his grip on Jack's thighs. He should move, he should help -- but he was, for the moment, transfixed by the sight of Jack with his hands on his own dick, his eyes falling shut as he stroked the remaining wet from his hands to his shaft.

Then Jack opened his eyes and shifted his weight, and Daniel had the presence of mind to grip his own cock at the base, and wait.

So impossible, to fit what was about to happen into his construct of Jack. But Daniel was pretty good at adapting his theories to new data, however improbable it had seemed.

Jack smiled when he felt and saw where Daniel moved his hand, saw that Daniel was helping. And still holding his own dick gently, Jack moved forward on his knees and straightened his spine, and then unerringly, gently, slowly, he pushed himself by millimeters onto Daniel's hard cock.

Daniel had to remind himself to breathe. The pleasure was overwhelming; the tight slick pressure, the hot, excruciatingly slow slide into Jack's body. But the astonishment of what was happening formed a thrumming backdrop, and his heartstopping sense of love and wonder and connection was as engulfing as the physical bliss. He watched the pleasure bloom on Jack's face, swept his gaze over Jack's body.

Jack wanted this -- with him. Jack loved him. Jack desired him.

Incredible. Miraculous.

When Jack had seated himself, his spine curved, his eyes dreamy and distant, one hand on his own dick and one hand roaming, groping, now brushing fingertips against Daniel's ribs, now bracing against his own thigh, he met Daniel's eyes. His expression turned serious, and he leaned forward carefully, cupping Daniel's cheek.

Daniel licked his lips and carefully, carefully rolled his hips. It had been so long, so long....

Jack groaned and closed his eyes, both his hands falling limp and bumping Daniel's skin.

So Daniel gripped Jack's thighs with both hands and did it again, pressing in a wave, upward, sliding into the tight engulfing pressure, pushing against the blissful weight on his thighs, loving how Jack's body anchored his groin, grounded him. Jack was heavy, even with much of his weight on his own knees.

Daniel moved one hand to Jack's erection, which was just as stiff and interested as it had been when Jack first sat over him, and when he felt Daniel's touch Jack opened his eyes again, and he smiled even wider, and he changed his balance again -- and began to move.

Daniel lost all capacity for coherent thought after that. He retained, forever after, a confused impression of Jack's night-dark eyes, of the sweat collecting in his chest hair, of the definition of his perfect six-pack abs, of his quads, as he moved, atop Daniel, taking and getting what he wanted.

But mostly Daniel was struck by lightning, engulfed, consumed, and as he cried out and came, shooting up and up, into Jack's body, curling up toward him, he felt Jack's warm hands on his face once again.

Soon, blinking, Daniel was aware that Jack was gazing down at him fondly, but also he was biting his lower lip and exuding a definite air of leashed arousal. He had a hand on his erection again, but he was just sitting there, holding Daniel inside him, and Jack was obviously waiting. And not very patiently.

Daniel smiled and put his hand over Jack's on Jack's dick, and once again the rhythm they found was shared, immediate and intense.

Jack only closed his eyes at the last second, and Daniel thought about watching as he felt the hot rush of come pool on his belly, but he couldn't tear his eyes away from Jack's face, from the twist of strange ecstasy that washed over his familiar features. After his climax peaked, Jack opened his eyes again very soon, and the love in them made Daniel's chest contract with a stab of answering amazement.

Jack leaned over, cupped Daniel's face, breathed his name, and then let himself lean all the way over, so that he was putting his face in Daniel's neck.

Daniel reached his arms around Jack's broad back, and closed his eyes.

Whatever he had failed to dream, if he had ever let himself speculate about Jack's ready affection, his protection, his care? He could never, in his wildest dreams, have imagined this. Never.

^^^^

When Daniel woke, Jack was lying beside him again in the bed, his hand on Daniel's chest, his gaze intent and patient.

"Sorry," Daniel said, feeling a crash of emotion along with returning consciousness. He had dozed off. He had missed some of this. Unacceptable. The emotions roiling in him as he tried to wake up were several and varied and perhaps it would be a good idea not to try to name them right now. Perhaps it would be better to stay in the moment as long as possible.

"I'm glad you could sleep," Jack said. "I bet you didn't, much, while I was all head blooey."

"I believe the correct technical term is headsucked," Daniel said, deadpan, while the river of emotion running through his heart threatened to drown him, or make him cry. How could he contain it? How could he feel this way?

 _"Sha're,"_ he thought again, but he said nothing, and only absorbed, with delight, Jack's smile at his ridiculous comeback, absorbed the feeling of Jack's hands on his skin.

"So," Jack said, as if he knew there were decisions to be made, things to be said, important things. But he didn't say them, and he didn't move.

"So," Daniel offered in return, but he meant, 'Yeah, but we don't have to discuss it.'

The expression in Jack's eyes, the relief, the gratitude and affection, was all the answer he needed.

"So, uh, welcome back," Daniel added.

Jack smiled -- the real smile, the big easy grin that Daniel had seen only twice before -- once for Ska'ara, and once for himself, thought left for dead.

"Thanks," Jack said, and leaned in to kiss him. "I'm thinking breakfast," he added, his lips still close enough to brush Daniel's, and Daniel reached up and put an elbow around his neck.

They had plenty of time for breakfast later. They had all the time in the world.


End file.
